


Garden's Not-So Secret Anymore

by CelticxPanda, IDoNotSleep



Series: The City is Contagious [12]
Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Heist, Minor Character Death, Mystic powers, Ninja Clans, Non-Graphic Violence, Plot in my fluff fics? More likely than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29903151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticxPanda/pseuds/CelticxPanda, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDoNotSleep/pseuds/IDoNotSleep
Summary: The Hamatos are tasked by a dying clan
Series: The City is Contagious [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063859
Kudos: 8





	Garden's Not-So Secret Anymore

Hamato Yoshi was a man of simple pleasures. Sure, he was wild as a young man, but those days were long behind him. Raising four mutant turtle boys into wonderful young adults did that to someone. At his age, he liked his tea a little bitter, his kung fu movies cheesy, and his slippers soft and silky. For him, the best night was one with all of these things, settled comfortably in his easy chair, with the lair blissfully quiet.

And for once, it was quiet. Donatello was off visiting the Schuyler library again, Raphael was heading to a local cafe (with the promise to bring home a few), Leonardo was training, and Michelangelo was busy with his art in the park. The lair was clean, he was comfortable in his chair, and his tea was perfectly brewed. Yoshi settled in deeper with his remote. Perhaps he could turn on _Swordsman with an Umbrella?_ Donatello loved that one as a child...

His bliss was rudely interrupted when something landed on his head with a thump. Yoshi grumbled as he forced his hand down on the offending object. A small scroll, he revealed. Confusion spread across his face as he set the remote to the side. An announcement scroll? What a strange thing to be struck with.

His confusion slammed into shock when he noticed the carved handles. Yoshi's palms sank into floral patterns in the wood. He turned the scroll over and let out a gasp.

Written in red ink, red as blood, was the phrase “Empress’ Garden”. Yoshi ran his claw along the kanji. It fell open under his touch, both sides unfurling in an even, eerie way. Something was very worrying about the way it just... appeared. The rat shifted a bit, reading the first words on the scroll.

Suddenly, Hamato Yoshi wished he had Donatello teach him how to use his phone better, so calling all four boys wasn’t such a task. Just dialing on his supposed ‘smart phone’ was a task. What made it so smart anyway?! It was as dumb as the TV or the microwave.

Once he had said Donatello on the line, whispering hushedly, the turtle assured him he’d be home quickly with the others.

Splinter sat dogeza before his sons, scroll tightly rolled up once more. All four sat perfectly still as well--well, perhaps not perfectly, but he rarely asked them to sit in such a way. Thus, when he did ask, they were antsy. Michelangelo was already trying not to bounce his heels. Raphael drummed his fingers in a waltz pattern on his knee. 

“Father?” Leonardo called to him. Splinter shook his head, breaking out of his worry.

“Leonardo,” he replied, “right now, I ask you and your brothers treat me as your master, not your father.”

His words struck something in his boy. All four straightened up in a snap. There was no movement. It was nothing but serious attention around him. Sharp eyes, sharp faces, and no smiles. He really did dislike it when Michelangelo made such a serious face.

But now was not the time for such musing.

Splinter began around a sigh. “As you all know now, I am indeed the last of the Hamato clan. Thus, in theory, I would be considered the family head if we continued to live on the surface.” He reached to his side and grabbed the scroll waiting for him; as expected, it didn’t stray even slightly. “So, as head, in times of need, other clans are capable of calling upon my--our--aid.”

Leonardo spoke up. “Master, is there another clan in New York City?”

Splinter closed his eyes. “There was, Leonardo. That is why I called you home.”

“...Was?” Michelangelo and Raphael exchanged confused looks.

Donatello gave a solemn nod. “We’re listening, Fa-Master.”

Ah, Donatello. Always the gentlest of his sons. Splinter rolled the scroll out, revealing the precise kanji within it. “Today, as head of the Hamato clan, I have been sent an emergency message from the last of a powerful guardian clan. We have been asked to retrieve the last of her treasures and guard them with our lives.”

Leonardo made a confused face.

“Do you have a question, Leonardo?”

“My apologies, Master,” he quickly offered, “but what kind of treasures are we being asked to retrieve?

A fair question. “We are being asked to retrieve the last four weapons of the Empress’s Garden.”

He did not expect much of a reaction from them. To be fair, he had never told them about the other clans the Hamatos frequently interacted with, mostly because he didn’t feel much need to bring up the dead, but... now this required at least some explanation.

“Are there other clans like us?” Donatello asked, curiosity in his dual colored eyes.

“There are. But the women of the Empress’s Garden are a very unique clan, compared to many seen before.” Splinter rolled the scroll a little more, finding the start of the letter. “I will read this and, perhaps, you four will understand a little more.”

_“My regards to the head of the Hamato Clan:_

_I understand this letter may come as a surprise to you, considering the era we live in. However, upon my deathbed, I know I can ask of your aid in this endeavour._

_I, Niwa Miharu, am the final matriarch of the women known as the Empress’s Garden. After myself, there will be no others who have my title from my blood. I will pass with only my words and memories at my side._

_Because we share an enemy in the Foot, I am calling upon you and your kin to guard my final treasures. As the final weaponsmith of the Empress’s Garden, I have crafted four final weapons in the name and honor of the Garden itself. My power should have been spread through hundreds of weapons, but instead, I have only been able to compress into four final tools. These cannot fall into the Foot’s grasp._

_It is my request, then, as the last Gardener, that your kin take these from my home and put them to use with your own. Be they your own daughters or granddaughters or perhaps the wives of your own, give these to them._

_Please, accept my final selfish request. Do not allow the Garden to be overgrown with weeds._

_Niwa Miharu, Matriarch and Gardener.”_

The master--father--of the turtles looked up then from his scroll. There was a strange blend of curious, confused, and excited amongst them. To be fair, it would be rather exciting to see what exactly they’d be looking for.

“She’s left us her address and a location of her final treasures. Tonight, you four shall enter her complex and find the treasures so we may provide a safe haven to them. By no means can the Foot get there first.” He closed the scroll once more. “You may ask questions now, as they pertain to this.”

Leonardo bowed his head. “Master, what are we looking for?”

“She really didn’t give us much to go off of...” Raphael agreed.

Donatello questioned, “Master, what on Earth is the Empress’s Garden anyway?”

“Are we supposed to be looking for flowers or something?” Michelangelo certainly knew how to hit things on the head.

Splinter raised a paw, silencing the four boys. Teaching them to be silent when he needed them was a task, but his sons were wiser than they sometimes acted. And thankfully, they were curious and concerned.

“To answer your questions, we are looking for mythic weapons, crafted by a clan designed specifically to guard royal women. The Empress’s Garden was the name of the ninja who performed such a task, but the reason why they were called as such, I am uncertain.”

That made his second oldest jolt. “We don’t know anything about them?”

“Unfortunately, no. Many ancient books on the Garden have been lost to time, and the women who made up the Garden were careful to never reveal themselves to their employers.” He paused, lifting his paw to stroke his beard a moment. “How they did not expose their weapons to them, I do not know.”

“So...” Michelangelo spoke up again, his tone trailing slightly. “Is, is this Miharu person... dead?”

He nodded. “Yes, my son. She has passed. And it was her final wish that we protect what remains of her clan.”

“We have history with these Garden folks?” Raphael interjected.

Splinter smiled a little. “Back in Japan, we did. The Hamato clan and the Garden frequently worked together in handling the Foot.” A small bubble of shame and embarrassment welled up. “While my family knew quite a bit about our relationship, I no longer have that understanding.”

Donatello offered, “I could look into finding out more, if it helps? I’m sure there’s something in a library...”

The master shook his head. “I am already asking you to go on a dangerous mission, one that could expose all of us. But these need to be safeguarded from the Foot.” Splinter rose again, and his sons followed suit. “Are there any other immediate questions?”

The four were silent. Good, nothing else.

“Very well.” He stood straight, eyes on his boys. “Tonight, after midnight, you four will be heading to Fordham Manor in the Bronx to an independent senior apartment. Her home is on the fourth floor, room 456. You will find a locked box with the kanji for the word ‘garden’ on the lid and bring it back here. Do not be seen or heard by any of the residents.”

His sons quickly offered bows. As they walked away, Splinter briefly thought there would be no more discussion. But Michelangelo was the first to perk up.

“Uh, fath--Master?”

“Yes, Michelangelo?”

“If we’re getting these weapons, can we use them instead? To fight the Foot and anything else that pops up?”

“Unfortunately no, my son.”

“But why?”

“Because,” Splinter smiled, “the Garden’s weapons can only be used by women.”

The brothers made their way across rooftops, footfalls silent against the stillness of the night. Or as still as any night could be in New York City. Sirens blared in the distance and people wandered home on the streets below. None of them looked up. 

Humans never looked up.

And yet, as they approached their destination, the whole city seemed to grow silent. Despite the breeze, the trees that lined the streets did not seem to move, almost as if they mourned the loss of the last Gardener. 

Lights were off in the building, save for the first floor lobby. If they were in luck, there would be no one awake. 

“According to the blueprints I found, 456 is a corner room with a balcony,” Donatello said, gesturing to the room in question with his staff. “We should be able to enter from there. If it’s locked, there should be access from the roof terrace.” 

“Everybody’s got a rooftop terrace these days,” Raphael muttered.

“You gotta find green space somewhere,” Donatello said with a shrug.

“Let’s just get in and out,” Leonardo said, his voice edging on a warning. “Quickly.”

The boys leapt across the space, ducking and rolling as they hit the pavement. They paused in the shadows of the landscaping that surrounded the building, bodies tense and alert for any signs that they’d been caught. When, after a moment passed, no such signs were seen, they began scaling the building, jumping between balconies and ledges with practiced ease. 

They crowded onto the narrow balcony, Michelangelo opting to hang off the railing rather than squish in with his big brothers. Raphael tugged at the handle, smirking when it came open with ease. 

“Easy as pie,” he said with a smirk.

“She was expecting us,” Leonardo reminded him. He turned to the others. “Search quickly and quietly. Our objective could be anywhere.” 

The brothers fanned out, each taking a section of the apartment to scour. It seemed that while the body had been moved, no one had come to collect the Matriarch’s earthly possessions. Not that she had much. Her futon remained wrapped up on a shelf. Her dresser was closed, but a brief look in revealed her clothes neatly folded. There were very few personal effects in the apartment, most of which were small pieces of art or knick knacks from travels. There were no family portraits. Picture frames carried photos of places, not people. 

“I wonder if she was lonely,” Michelangelo murmured, setting down a picture frame that had decorated the kitchen counter. “Do you think this is how Dad would have ended up if it wasn’t for us?” 

“I don’t know, Mikey,” Leonardo admitted, removing books from shelves, only to place them back when nothing was found behind them. “It’s best not to speculate.” 

“She called to us in her time of need, not her own kids or grandkids.” Michelangelo turned to his brother, now kneeling to look into the lower cabinets. “We’ll do better for him.”

“Not like you to be sentimental.”

“I think I found it!” Donatello carefully called from the bedroom. The others rushed in to find him kneeling next to the bed, a small wooden box in his hands. It was painted white, with pastel wisteria trees lining the edges of the lid. In the middle of the lid was the kanji for garden, carved and burned into the wood. 

“Looks kinda small to hold any weapons,” Raphael muttered, staring at the small box.

“Maybe it’s bigger on the inside,” Michelangelo suggested.

“This isn’t one of Donnie and Leo’s goofy sci-fi shows, Mikey,” Raphael argued. 

“Well, no, but it’s probably magic, right?” the brother in orange pointed out. “That’s how Dad got the letter in the first place, isn’t it?”

“This isn’t the place to discuss that,” Leonardo warned. “We should get out of here. Quickly.” Donatello nodded, tucking the box into his ever-present satchel.

Leonardo turned, leading his brothers back out into the living space, only to stop short as a shuriken went flying past his face. He turned, eyes landing on the sliding door and a squad of Foot Clan ninja on the balcony.

Raphael was the first to shout “Shit!”

“Get to the stairs,” he barked at his brothers. “We’ll exit via the roof. Go!” 

Leonardo quickly jumped in front of his brothers, parrying off Raphael dropped his shoulder and charged for the door, smashing through it without care for how many neighbors were woken up. Once he was out, the largest turtle barked to his brothers. “Come on, hurry!” Donatello and Michelangelo hurried after, Donnie first, then the youngest.

Once they were outside, Raphael let out a shout that’d wake the dead-- or at least the deaf. “Leo! Hurry up!”

“Coming!” Leonardo spun his swords, a portal forming behind him. He slipped through, appearing just outside the apartment with his brothers. Giving Raphael a nod, the two of them sped off after their brothers. Michelangelo led the charge, busting open the doorway to the stairwell where more Foot Clan ninja waited for them. 

“Back off, lamebrains!” he shouted, pulling out his nunchucks with a flourish that ended up smacking a few enemy ninjas in the face. “It’s quiet hours!” 

Donatello tucked the box into his satchel, leaving both hands free to wield his bo staff, though the weapon was at a disadvantage in the narrow space of the stairwell. At the very least he could block and parry any strikes aimed his way. He just had to let his brothers do the heavy hitting. 

Jumping forward using another portal, Leonardo positioned himself behind the enemy ninja. With a quick flash of his blade, he slew several, their bodies slumping to the floor or falling over the railing to the floors below. Raphael leapt through the portal behind him, catapulting himself into the middle of the fray, just where he liked to be. They didn’t have to defeat all of the ninja, just clear a path for Donatello to get out. 

As Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Raphael thinned the crowd, Donatello saw his chance, vaulting up the stairs towards the next floor. 

“He’s clear!” Leonardo shouted. “Let’s go!” 

The brothers charged up the stairwell, Leonardo portalling in front of Donatello to lead the way while Raphael and Michelangelo brought up the rear, taking on the foes that came up behind them. The rooftop terrace was swarming with Foot Ninja by the time the brothers busted through the door. 

“Leo!” Donatello let out a warning shout.

“I got it,” Leonardo assured him, eyes making contact with a rooftop several blocks away. Perfect. 

Spinning his swords, Leonardo opened a portal behind him. Without questioning where it went, his brothers jumped through, Leonardo following just after them. They popped out of the portal on the rooftop Leonardo had spotted, darting down into the alleyway and slipping into the first manhole they could find. Once all four were deep down the sewers and catching their breath, Raphael let out a woosh of a breath.

“That coulda gone better,” Raphael muttered.

“Could’ve also gone worse,” Michelangelo pointed out, always the optimist. 

“Seemed like we got there just in time,” Donatello said with a sigh, reaching into his satchel and pulling out the box. “We should get this home, and quickly.”

“Awww, but I wanna see what’s in it,” Michelangelo grumbled, pouting.

“No, Donnie is right,” Leonardo agreed. “We shouldn’t open it until we get home, in case these things give off any kind of energy. We’re still too close to those Foot ninja to be lax about anything. Let’s go.” 

They made their way through the twisting, winding tunnels of the sewers back towards their home. Upon returning, they found Splinter pacing back and forth, worry heavy on his shoulders. 

“Father,” Leonardo called.

Splinter stood a bit straighter, and when he spoke his relief was obvious. “My sons, you have returned.”

“Yes, Father,” Leonardo replied, his voice betraying his exhaustion. “And we were successful in our mission. We have retrieved the box Niwa Miharu spoke of in her letter, and just in time, it seems. We had an encounter with the Foot Clan as we were leaving.” 

“But the weapons are here,” Splinter disagreed gently, “and so are you. That is all I can ask for. Where are they?”

Donatello held up the small box. “In here, supposedly. We didn’t dare open it before making it back.”

“A wise decision,” Splinter nodded. “But we should make sure that what we aimed to retrieve is indeed in the box. Open it, Donatello.” 

Donatello hummed. “Let me grab my tools, so I can get this lock open.”

Splinter and the brothers followed Donatello into his lab, where he set the box on a workbench before wandering off to find a few particular tools. Upon returning, he set about picking the lock as his family watched on with bated breath. After a few long moments, there was the sound of the lock clicking open. Donatello let out a relieved sigh.

“Far as I can tell, there’s no traps.” Donatello took a deep, calming breath. “Alright,” he announced. “I’m going to open it now.”

He could feel the eyes of his father and brothers on him as he slowly, carefully, opened the box. What he saw within, however, was not what any of them had expected.

Four delicate pieces of jewelry sat in soft velvet: a hairpin, a necklace, a set of earrings, and a pair of bracelets. Each was decorated with a distinct flower motif, and they were clearly made by an expert artisan. But these were not weapons.

“I...I don’t understand,” Donatello quietly said, turning to Splinter. “This was the only box matching the description in the apartment. I found it in a cubbyhole that had been carved into the wall behind the bed frame. It was clearly important to her that it remain hidden!”

“Did someone get to the weapons first?” Leonardo theorized. “Or...is this part of what you meant when you said only women could use the weapons, Father?”

Splinter shook his head. “I do not know, my son. The secrets of the Empress’ Garden have long since been lost, especially to an outsider like myself.”

Donatello stood, brows furrowed. “I’m going to go do some research. Maybe...maybe if I can find even the smallest hint, it could give us some idea of what to do.” 

Splinter sighed. It was impossible to argue with Donatello when he set off on any path of discovery. “Do what you feel is best, my son.” 

“What should we do?” Michelangelo asked. 

“For now, we will rest, and recuperate,” Splinter decided. “After that, we shall do what we can to protect these treasures. Despite their appearances, I have a feeling there is more to these delicate pieces of jewelry than we can ascertain.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this part of The City is Contagious, which was written by IDoNotSleep and CelticxPanda. We’ve decided to start hinting at a greater plot, and we hope it has caught your attention. Let us know what you think and what theories you may have in the comments below.


End file.
